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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785950">it's nice to have a friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae'>apricae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of kissing, Angst, Bruises, Comfort Sex, Consent, Crying During Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Non-Explicit Sex, Wartime Romance, bail being gentle, bc consent is important and sexy, implied/referenced trauma, mild body worship tbh ??, obi-wan being not okay, references to karen miller's wild space</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan isn't okay, hasn't been okay - the war drags on, drags the life out of him.</p><p>Bail can do nothing but watch, and offer what comfort he can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's nice to have a friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you need?”</p><p>Such a simple question with far too many answers. Obi-Wan tends to cycle through them at random; A good night’s sleep, for the war to end, a break, a proper meal for once, a way out of this, a way to make it better, a clear clean path to <em> peace- </em></p><p>“To forget,” he says tonight, broken and half-muffled by the shifting of fabric as he pulls his tunic up over his head. Bail trails its path with his fingertips, light touch bringing out goosebumps on exposed skin. He’s cold. He’s numb. </p><p>Bail doesn’t ask what it is he needs to forget. He already knows.</p><p>(<em>Faceless men in dreams and in waking. The nebula-stained sky of a Sith planet. Dead things, too many dead things, casualty reports. Everything, everything, everything</em>.)</p><p>Bail doesn’t ask. He only disentangles Obi-Wan’s arm from his sleeve, brings their hands together. Interlaces their fingers. “Of course,” he says, still tracing love into Obi-Wan’s upper arm.</p><p>“Of course, heart.”</p><p>And it’s the simplicity of it that he needs. The soft familiarity as Bail runs his hand down his side, gentle, grounding. He twists a little, tosses the brown undertunic away and hears it land somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care. He’s too busy forgetting. </p><p>And <em> oh</em>, Bail makes it so easy for him. </p><p> </p><p>Slow, open-mouthed kisses pressed into his throat; He laughs, all breath, and doesn’t know why. There is nothing to laugh at. He does anyway, and Bail laughs with him, finding his pulse, drawing it between his teeth. The vulnerability he feels at that gesture is overwhelming, frightening, too big and important to think about. His thighs fall open.</p><p>The skin of his collarbone is thin and already bruised from plastoid pressed too hard over the bone. Bail places kisses there, too, there’s nowhere he won’t kiss, nowhere he won’t seek out just to press love into skin with his mouth, vow after vow after vow. Obi-Wan stares at the bedroom ceiling and then he closes his burning eyes.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Bail says as he shudders. “You’re so beautiful.”</p><p>Obi-Wan never considered his outward appearance much beyond a perfunctory sense of neatness before Bail Organa called him beautiful in that particular tone of voice. He doesn’t quite know if he <em> agrees</em>, but he trusts Bail – he always trusts Bail, would hand over his beating heart and never feel the need to say <em> careful with that </em> – so he does not object. It would be no use, anyway. Bail loves to praise.</p><p>All words in that gentle-deep voice feel amazing against his body, praise no less. Maybe more, even. </p><p>Bail tangles them together, kisses and kisses his skin, praises and praises him. Captures his mouth over and over in hard, capricious bursts that leave him shaking, breathlessly asking for more even as his body yields gentle and pliant; Mouth, fingers, <em>more</em>. </p><p>“More,” he whispers, biting back the sounds that gather in his throat.</p><p>“Let me hear you,” asks Bail in return, moving slow. “I want to hear you.”</p><p>“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies, surrendering, “yes.” Breathless still, making tiny noises into the space between their bodies, fingers twisting in the silk bedsheets. He leans into every touch, yearning always for more, skin hungering for contact even as Bail covers his tired, battle-worn body with his own, holding him in all the right ways, drawing a blush to the surface of his skin, bruises like gems scattering everywhere in shades of lilac.</p><p>“Please,” he says against Bail’s mouth, before his words are lost completely and all that’s left is bright heat and sparking pleasure and all their points of contact. His head becomes so beautifully <em> empty</em>, lungs flooded full of bliss as he shivers and shivers and melts, sobbing through it and he doesn’t know why. Bail lets him. Bail loves him.</p><p>They lie together, the edges of the world gone soft.</p><p>“Hey,” says Bail, mouth warm at his cheek, at the tears lingering there. Always kissing all the skin he can reach, not caring about the salt that clings to his lips. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“Hello,” he murmurs, still catching his breath, still with his eyes closed. Instinctively, he curls against him, seeking touch even as the burn in his blood dies down. When he speaks, his voice is thin and trembling with need, with grief, but there’s no danger in vulnerability here; with his ribs transparent, he can spill pain and truth, whispering. </p><p>“No. I- I just-” He stops, starts, blinks until the blurriness in his vision spills down into his hair. “Hold me?”</p><p>Bail kisses the corner of his mouth, drawing him close. Obi-Wan can feel the ache of all the things that wind themselves around their throats, choking Bail’s voice when he answers the way Obi-Wan knew he would.</p><p>“Of course, heart.”</p>
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